Forever is Our Today
by Arianna Waters
Summary: Barty can't help but laugh. Of course he loves her. He doesn't voice it, though, because there is no need. The next few moments are spent in silence, and Barty simply draws comfort from her hold on him. "Don't wait for me," he finally says. "I know," she replies, "forever is our today." A tear trickles down her cheek. Barty kisses it away. [Warning: Character Death]


_Written for Sophie (Screaming Faeries), because as far as I'm concerned, BartyLuna is her fault._

* * *

**Forever is our Today**

He kicks away the pebble in his path with all the repressed frustration, a litany of curses going on in his head as he contemplates his life. A week ago, he had everything. Now… now, he stands nowhere.

_Literally_, he thinks as he takes in the old, rundown street around him. He knows in his heart that he is just running away from his old life—the house where they all used to sit, talk, drink, and laugh together for hours every night; the old warehouse they had rented and turned into their practice space at the very beginning of their careers, and had never felt the need to move out; the tiny pizza place they used to crowd after every successful gig.

Their bus, parked in his driveway because it was the largest.

His stage name. His guitar.

The former had been snatched from him, and he just didn't have the motivation or energy to bring the latter with him after everything that had happened. Who would he play for, anyway?

He is nothing without _them_: the people he had built a career with; the same people who had kicked him out of the band on the basis of a mere accusation.

It made the news. "_Bartemius_ '_Barty' Crouch, Jr., the lead singer of the emerging rock band, Death Eaters, arrested!_"

The scandal was huge. Such a big name, caught with drugs. _Someone_ bailed him out before the trial, which is scheduled in twenty three days. Now, no one cares what he says. It doesn't matter if (when) he is going to be found not-guilty. The media has made up their mind. They have made up the public's mind for them.

He assumed (hoped) it wouldn't change anything between him and his _brothers_. He had been wrong.

A polite "_Keeping you would be bad for the band's PR,_" and he was told to essentially fuck off. That was two days ago, and the same night, Barty packed a few things he thought he would need and drove until he couldn't. He doesn't even know the name of this place.

A soft melody pierces his thoughts, and his steps falter. It's flute—the wooden sort—and the only word Barty can use to describe it is _beautiful_.

His feet automatically lead him in the direction of the source, his brain tuning down the cacophony of the crowd to focus on the music. He finds her soon enough, and where her music made him falter, the sight of her causes him to halt.

Pale gold hair frames her face and falls down to her waist. Her eyes are closed, a crooked flute that looks handmade held to her lips, and she sways as she plays, her feet leading her in an unearthly, captivating dance.

She plays the final notes, her feet dancing on for a few moments even as she brings the flute down. When she stops, she curtsies low, and it is then that Barty notices the small crowd he is apparently a part of. The people clap, and Barty's hands follow on their own accord.

When she finally looks up and around, her pale-blue eyes bright and vibrant, Barty feels his breath catch. She feels like pure magic.

It is in that moment that the spell breaks, it seems, as if Barty jinxed it. The people drop some coins and move to go on about their lives, the girl packs up, and all the while, Barty stands there, for what, to him, seems like not too much time.

Just as she is about to leave, Barty approaches her and sticks a hand out. An '_oh!_' escapes her lips, as if she's surprised someone actually stopped to talk, and she shakes his hand. Up close, Barty notices how big her eyes are. She has what looks like a smaller flute tucked behind her ear.

"I'm Barty Crouch," he finally says as he lets go of her hand.

"Luna Lovegood," she says, her voice airy. A smile plays on her lips as she adds, "Pleased to meet you!"

Barty laughs at that. "It's the other way around, Miss. You play beautifully."

"Thank you," she replies, curtsying just a little. She gives him a tiny wave and steps around him to walk away.

* * *

His back hurts when he wakes up the next morning—the inn's mattress is not the most comfortable thing in the world. The bed frame creaks as he sits up and gets to his feet. Blearily, he makes his way to the bathroom.

A few minutes later find Barty in the laughable kitchenette—it's just a wall to wall cemented shelf with a bad paint job—rummaging in his bag for something to eat. The inn's food was deemed inedible the first night in.

Barty sighs when he finds nothing in his bag. It's to the market, then.

He has to ask twice for directions and nearly manages to get lost, which is kind of shameful in such a small village, but Barty has never been good at navigation. He finally reaches the place and has to take a step back when all his senses are blown. He's always been a city guy, and he has never seen anything like it.

Everything is so raw and so amazingly fresh. The bright colors ooze joy, in a way. The people are cheekily haggling over produce, and the place has an almost festive feel to it with all its jubilance.

So, of course, it is the place where he runs into Luna. Literally.

He's still busy simply taking in the sights, and the girl bumps into him on her way out of the store. The diminutive girl falls back and lands on her bum, and she blinks those wide, blue eyes as she looks up at him, a confused, far-away look on her face.

Barty simultaneously is mortified and feels like grinning. He manages something between the two as he offers her a hand, which she takes to pull herself up.

"Fancy seeing you here," says Barty. "And I'm sorry," he adds. Luna simply smiles at him.

"It's quite alright! Hello to you as well, good sir." He returns her smile and bends to pick up the bag she dropped. He straightens up to return it, only to find Luna looking at him, her face tilted just a little as if contemplating something. "You aren't from around here, are you? It's just that I haven't seen you around, and I think I've seen everyone, even though most people don't really stop to talk."

Barty feels his smile faltering as his heart breaks just a little for this pure girl. Meanwhile, Luna is tapping her chin with a finger, making the bright, mismatched bangles on her wrist jingle. She hums, then points at him and says, "Except you!"

He can't help the chuckle that her exclamation draws out of him. Barty shakes his head and smiles at the utter wonder Luna Lovegood is. "I'm not from around here, and unfortunately, I didn't pack enough food. I'm all out."

"That's sad," Luna says, "food is very important. Do you need help?"

Barty sighs in relief and nods. "I'm from the city, and it's not how things work there. Thank you."

"It's quite alright," she says. Darting forward to grab his hand, she drags him into the busy marketplace.

The next couple of hours are wild, to say the least. Some of the things Luna directs him to, Barty has never seen before. They are probably the weirdest things that exist in the market, but with Luna, as he is learning slowly, weird is good.

Barty himself feels like a new person in her company. Gone is the rock singer; gone is the accused criminal. In her presence, he simply _is_. And Barty finds he likes it.

It's a small village, and they seem to run into each other quite often. On the days Barty doesn't see her, he strolls to where she plays in the evenings, and a smile lights up her face every time he approaches her after the performance ends.

Falling for Luna is easy, just like everything about her is, as Barty has learned. She's simple, genuine, and pure.

And also very, very clever. So, of course, the day he realises he is actually in love with her, she skips up to him when she sees him and kisses him full on the mouth. Her voice is airy as always but also a bit breathless when she leans back to smile at him and says, "Glad to know the wrackspurts clouding your head are finally gone."

He quirks a brow, even as he smiles like a loon, and the girl just laughs. Barty shakes his head and joins in; Luna is Luna, and he has no intention of unravelling her quirky nature.

Barty is quickly falling in love with this new world, this new way of life, as he spends his time with Luna. He is keen on forgetting the past and spending eternity here, building new dreams and a new life with this girl who has managed to write his story upside down and inside out.

It is then, of course, it becomes clear that this world has only one sweet moment set aside for them. There's two days until the hearing when he gets the phone call.

It's Peter, the manager of Death Eaters, and one of the few people who didn't turn their backs on Barty. The rat's always played a two-faced game, though, and Barty has always resented him for it. He's desperate for information, so he takes the call.

"I managed to get Don Voldemort back," Peter says, his voice tight. Barty can't understand why, because it's a momentous occasion—they've been trying to smuggle the Don back into the country for ages—until Peter adds: "We nearly got caught. The new cop, Harry—he's James' boy—caught sight of us, so now everyone and their mother knows. You're also a suspect, and they're coming for you."

Barty's new world comes crashing down in that moment. He makes some sort of acknowledgement and ends the call, then sits on the couch and stares at the ceiling, trying not to think.

He knows what he's going to do. He'd like to think they won't find him here, but they definitely will, and he can't risk getting Luna involved in all of that. He didn't exactly _hide_ on his way here, and they'll be tailing him soon enough. He needs to leave.

He runs all the way to Luna's house. It's her dad who opens the door, exclaiming at his sweaty state. Barty has little time for pleasantries, though, so he excuses himself and makes his way to Luna's room. It had been weird the first time when the man had allowed Barty, a male, in his daughter's room, unsupervised. Now, Barty just knows there will be no objections.

The door's ajar, and she's lying in the bed, on her stomach, painting. He can already see it's beautiful, and a wistful smile forms on his face as he knocks on the doorframe.

Luna looks up, and a smile forms on her lips. "Oh hello, I didn't see you there." She pats on the mattress, and Barty chuckles as he walks to the bed, sitting beside her.

She sits up. "I'm not gonna like what you'll say, am I?"

"I'm afraid not," he replies, sighing loudly. He takes a long pause, then starts his story.

"I don't judge people on their worst mistakes," Luna says, her arms coming up and around him, engulfing him in a sweet hug. It makes him feel safe and secure in a way nothing ever has, yet Barty knows he'll have to leave the comfort of it very soon. "I love you. All of you. And you don't need to say anything, because I know you love me, too."

Barty can't help but laugh. Of course he loves her. He doesn't voice it, though, because there is no need. The next few moments are spent in silence, and Barty simply draws comfort from her hold on him. "Don't wait for me," he finally says.

"I know," she replies, "forever is our today." A tear trickles down her cheek. Barty kisses it away.

"Well, this is goodbye, I guess," he says, a sigh escaping him as he reigns in his own tears. She nods, and Barty kisses her for one last time before he turns away. He doesn't look back, because he knows that if he does, he'll never leave.

It takes them over a week to finally corner him. By then, Barty is starved and sleep-deprived, but mostly heartbroken. When they surround his now-battered car and ask him to leave it, Barty decides he doesn't care. He knows he won't ever get to go back to Luna, and honestly, he doesn't want to live without her.

He has information they want, and while Barty is loyal, with all the technology they have means to extract it out of him. There's only one way out.

That's when he notices the old man standing in the back. It's his namesake; his father. _Agent Bartemius Crouch, Sr— _the dad who never cared. Barty sighs and steps out of the car. He just needs to show the old man his face one last time.

"Bartemius Crouch, Jr.," reads the dark-skinned, young policeman—Barty's sure his name is Kingsley, "you are under arrest for drug dealing, not showing up for trial, and for conspiring with a known criminal."

The policeman steps forward, a pair of handcuffs in his hands, ready to be snapped onto Barty's wrists, but Barty ignores him in favour of his father. The older man has been staring at somewhere over Barty's shoulder since they cornered him, his gaze unwavering. Barty snarls, finally drawing the older man's attention.

"Hello, Daddy dearest."

His father scowls at him, and Barty grins back for a second before pushing out the false tooth lodged in his lower jaw and crunching on it. It's called the Dementor's Kiss—it's every true Death Eater's way out of captivity—and soon enough, he knows no more.

* * *

**Written as reserve Chaser 2 of Falmouth Falcons for QLFC.**

**Lyrics:** 'This world has only one / Sweet moment set aside for us' and 'Forever is our today'


End file.
